O Brother, Where Art Thou?
by Inks Inc
Summary: Sibling relationships are hard at the best of times. But, when you're in the family trade of hunting the Supernatural, things can get even more complicated. Dean and Sam were born into their perilous world, but how do they navigate it? How can they kill that which goes bump in the night, without killing each other? The answer is simple, they're brothers first. WARNING: Spanking
1. Chapter 1

The creaking floorboards underneath his rapidly pacing feet squealed in aging protest as Dean stomped his angry, cyclical way over them. He had seen some things in his time, both earthly and unearthly, but the stunt his little brother had just pulled, beat them all.

To the less than dulcet soundtrack of the floorboards now roaring in warning, he continued his agitated bout of directionless activity. His mind faltered under the weight of the barrage of thoughts bustling around it, and his stomach clenched in the battle of conflicting emotions.

Relief flooded through him intermittently, followed closely by a dose of admittedly frightening anger.

He needed to calm the hell down, and whether the wooden floor structure liked it or not, pacing had always helped.

What didn't help…. What _really_ didn't help, was that the cause of his ire sat so freaking nonchalantly in the chair opposite him, texting absentmindedly on that goddamned phone.

The kid clearly had either absolutely no idea, or simply neither care nor consideration, for the danger he'd put himself in. Staring with a biting force at the top of his brothers tousled mop of hair, Dean felt himself continue to vibrate with rage, tempered only by gratitude that the geek was ok.

He could be organising his little brother's funeral right now, and Sam was acting as if he'd just forgotten to gas up the car, and that he, Dean, was completely over reacting.

He gave no indication that he understood the fact that running off, half cocked, unarmed on a wild goose chase that was only tentatively connected to Jess' death was something that might cause concern.

 _Serious concern._

Dean's eyes flashed once more as he remembered the horror of waking up to that hurriedly scribbled note, and his brother's empty bed.

He had _told_ Sam that he would go with him and see if that lead, though he seriously doubted it, would come to any fruition. He had _told_ him that they needed to come up with a more organised plan that merely running headlong into something they knew very little about.

For once, he had been the perfect poster boy for restraint, and it was _then_ that the college boy decided to go all rebellion wild on him?

Looking over once again in the midst of his pacing at Sam's supremely unconcerned poise, he resisted with great difficulty the urge to shake him into next week.

Taking a deep breath, he realised he was nowhere near calm enough to deal with the situation with any kind of rationality. If he'd learned anything from his father's and Sam's relationship, it was that the kid did _not_ react all that well to raised voices and clipped tones.

The pacing wasn't doing the job.

He needed air.

Lots of air.

Grabbing his jacket, he strode across the room and felt his jaw clench with raw irritation when Sam merely arched a distinctly unperturbed brow in his direction.

Dropping down to level eye contact, he crouched in front of his little brother and not for the first time, wondered how they'd gotten this far without him _killing_ him in cold blood.

"I need to calm down," he growled, keeping his anger at bay as best as he possibly could, "you wait here for me to get back. You do _not_ leave this goddamned room. Do you understand?"

His young brother merely mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "whatever…take as long as you like."

Before dropping his head unceremoniously back down to his phone.

In a clear dismissal.

Biting his tongue and closing his eyes in now rather wearied anger, Dean stood and shrugged on his jacket before striding smartly out of their motel room door.

The balmy breeze hit him head on, and he drank it in deeply. Throwing his hands in his pockets, he set off grudgingly towards the town centre.

Their current investigation had landed them in the smallest of small towns, and curious looks from locals caught him at every angle. Not in the mood to flash his charming smile at even the prettiest of girls, he kept his head down and tried to walk off his remaining ire.

 _Its like talking to a brick wall_ he thought helplessly, stepping smartly out of the way of an oncoming tractor.

The kid just didn't _listen._ He never had. He had bucked against their father, and now, with their father still AWOL, it seemed that he, Dean, was picking up the slack.

His throat constricted as he thought of the dishevelled state that Sam had arrived back in. His mussed up hair, his grazed cheek…his look of raw and unhidden fear.

He couldn't recount what he had experienced with any authority, it wasn't something he knew on sight and it wasn't something documented in their father's journal.

How he got away, he also couldn't say. Through borderline chattering teeth he had worked brokenly through an explanation that gave rise to more questions than answers.

The…thing, whatever it was….had simply stopped giving chase as he had stumbled haphazardly, utterly unarmed through unfamiliar wild terrain.

Dean's brow furrowed further as he had recalled how Sam had begun to pull his cloak of indifference over him as the shock had worn off. His anger riled once more as he remembered how the belligerent attitude had come to the surface as his little brother had seen through his own relief right through to the anger that laid closely under the skin.

Ignoring yet another incredulous look from a local merchant, he stomped his way down some kind of scenic walk, his mind whirring almost painfully, only tempered with the knowledge that at least the kid was safe and accounted for.

For the moment anyway.

…but back in the sparsely decorated motel room, another mind was whirring with equal bouts of anger and relief.

Sam was fed up.

He was well and truly fed up.

He didn't want this life. He had been thrown into it before he could even walk or talk, and dragged without care or consideration through its crazy realms as he'd grown.

He just wanted to be normal.

Was that really too much to ask?

He threw his phone down angrily as he recalled the infuriated look on his brother's face as he had burned holes in the floor with his stupid pacing.

He wasn't their father.

He didn't have the right to freaking lecture him like that.

It was bad enough trying to get it through to their MIA father that he didn't freaking _want_ to be a hunter. Now, he had to contend with his equally bull headed brother.

Stretching out in the armchair, he ran an exasperated hand over his face.

He could be at Stanford right now. He could be living a normal life, full of normal things.

But no…he was once again essentially homeless, living from flea bitten motel to motel with an overbearing, know it all brother.

He didn't need Dean to tell him how to run his life.

He'd done just fine in doing that in the years that his brother and father had practically ignored his existence. Scorned him for daring to have the audacity of being drawn to some semblance of normalcy.

The raw emotional build up that was now beginning to thunder through him chose to ignore all the times that they'd called, and he'd ignored them.

He suddenly found himself on his feet, retracing his brother's agitated footsteps. The unprocessed grief and guilt he still felt over Jess' death engulfed him in that moment.

The bile rose in his throat as he remembered her pretty smile, her trusting eyes.

He had all but dragged her into his screwed up, messed up world. Omission was as good as a lie right?

The tentative plan he'd come up with suddenly rattled around his brain, and he looked around the room. The car keys glistened in the unused ashtray, and he started towards them. Dean had obviously removed them from their stupid hiding place when he'd driven over town looking for him.

His face contorted into a scowl as he recalled the _cause_ of his unarmed state.

If his stupid brother hadn't basically locked away their arsenal, he might have had a shot at taking that…thing down.

Hesitating for a fraction of a second at Dean's probable reaction, his face suddenly darkened.

Scooping up the keys of the car, and their entire tool inventory, he shrugged on a jacket of his own.

Wrenching the door open, he spied his cell on the armchair and made the conscious decision to leave it there.

Hovering on the doorstep for a moment, Dean's face flashed in his minds' eye.

The angry _"screw him,"_ was spoken to no one in particular as the door slammed shut, aged wood in supreme danger of splintering at the hinges with the force used.

A local farmer's eyes widened in disgust, and a head was shaken in disproval, as an odd looking car suddenly screeched loudly out of the local, and barely open, motel.

 _These damn out of town kids….._

…..

TBC

…..

A/N: Ok, so first ever Supernatural fic. I've been badgered by friends to watch the series for like _forever,_ but I've always put it off because it didn't really seem like something I'd like. How wrong I was! Already hooked.

Obviously I'm seasons and seasons behind, and this fic is based off my interpretations of the first season (nearly done binging it), so for people who are on Season 11 etc, this may seem outdated etc.

Anyways, a little bit nervous as I've never written for this fandom before, so please let me know what you guys think!

-Inks


	2. Of Cars and Curries

Feeling the cold rain trickle down the collar of his jacket and drip onto his neck, Dean decided to call his rather effective calming walk to an end. His fury that had gripped him as he had stormed from the motel room had all but dilated. He was still angry as hell, of course, but it wasn't all consuming. He could control it.

And not it, him.

The evening light was beginning to dwindle as he turned on his heel and began making his way back to their temporary abode. His mind still whirred with thoughts of Sam, and how close he had come to losing him. Since their father had gone AWOL, and since the gut feeling had firmly settled within him that they were close to losing him forever, his brother had become even more important.

He was all the family he had.

It was just so out of character, he mused as he squelched through the mud strewn non streets, Sam was always the cautious one. The level headed one, hell he was the _sensible_ one. Tearing off after some unknown entity, on his own, on a whim….was much more like _him_ than it was his brother. Frustration threatened to overwhelm him again, and he shook his head firmly.

He needed to be calm, for him. For both of them.

Ignoring a duo of gawping locals, albeit with gritted teeth, he kept his eyes downcast and continued to slowly make his way home. The rain was picking up momentum now, and it spattered harshly across his face as he walked. Thrusting his hands deeper in his pockets, he prayed Sam would either be calm or asleep when he got back.

He was going to have to talk to him, and it wouldn't be pleasant. For either of them.

Not for the first time, he fervently wished his father would quit his mind bending cat and mouse game and help him the hell out. Of course, he'd always been left with Sam, since he was old enough to even _say_ Sam. But now…now, he felt like he was out of his depth. Now that his little brother had stepped one foot so fiercely off the rails, he feared desperately that the other was not long in its wake.

How in the hell was he supposed to get through to him, when he was still grieving, that that wasn't ok?

That wasn't a job for him. That was a job for their freaking father, should he miraculously decide to grace them with his presence. How was he supposed to… _how_ was he supposed to _do that_? Of course, he had done it once or twice, maybe more, but that was before the kid had left for college. Then they'd spent a couple of years apart, which made the possibility of what he knew needed to be done even more tenuous.

He _was_ the older brother, and he _was_ basically like a co parent to Sam, but…could he _really_ do that?

His jaw clenched as he thought of it, and he began feeling mildly sick. He hated always having to be the one to bark orders, to issue instructions and not take no for an answer. That, however, was how _he_ was taught. Therefore, that was all he knew. And like it or not, that was all _Sam_ knew. Even if he bucked against it, even he spiralled angrily against he knew the underlying reason, the founding methodology.

It was to keep them all damned alive.

Sighing, he took the poorly signed turn off that led to their motel, and continued his inner, pensive, monologue. He mightn't be able to show it as well as college boy, but he _did_ love him. Deeply. It tore his heart in two to see the kid struggling with the death of his girlfriend, and trembling under the onslaught of his nightmares, that were rapidly turning into sunlight bound premonitions.

Terrifying, horrifically detailed and true, premonitions.

He hated standing by and not being able to do anything as Sam would whimper in his sleep. Or sitting in the car anxiously as the boy would buckle over, seeing untold horrors flitting across his eyes that he couldn't drive away. He hated standing by and watching both the past and present tear his little brother apart.

There was very little he could do about that, but there _was_ something he could do about his brother actively _trying_ to get himself _torn_ apart. That something was as unpalatable as all hell, but he knew what his father would have done if he were here. From much, much, experience in such matters. He could practically here his father's furious voice in his head.

…and he could practically feel his father's controlled, level, corrections elsewhere.

Sighing, he made it through the last part of his journey with a slightly faster gate, telling himself it had absolutely nothing to do with the flaming rednecks that had actually parked their truck mid-road to get a better look at him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that this whole frigging town was not only cursed with a supernatural presence but an overwhelming disregard for common courtesy.

Looking forward to some semblance of privacy, even if he had to share it with one pissed off little brother, he barrelled into the motel's dirt driveway, momentarily blinded by the garish sign that had obviously been switched on in his presence.

He nearly fell flat on his face.

The car, _his_ car, _his_ pride and freaking _joy,_ was gone. Vanished. Not by some ghostly apparition either, oh no, the tire tracks still evident in the soft mud pointed to a much more _humanly_ culprit. Forcing himself to remain calm, and telling himself that perhaps Sam had just moved it in response to local staring and pointing, he flew up the stairs to their dilapidated room. Hoping against all hope that his younger brother would be exactly where he left him.

It was a good thing he didn't have all that much faith in any form of higher power.

The kid was gone. The chair was empty, save for the cell phone he had obviously decided to leave behind. Feeling nausea swoop throughout him, Dean frantically looked for the spare key he used to lock up their weaponry arsenal.

It was also gone.

This wasn't just a drive to calm down, to chill out or to get some space.

This was a hunt.

Flinging himself across the room, and wrenching open the door as if seeking divine inspiration, he breathed in the rainy mist and fought to keep his last meal firmly in his gut.

It was a hopeless fight, and what once was a relatively delicious curry, landed on the dirt road with a sickening splatter.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve and straightening up, Dean closed his eyes and murmured rhetorically in utter despair.

" _God damnit Sammy…."_

….

TBC

…

A/N: Ok, so having successfully binged through to mid season two levels, revelations about John etc are known, but with the setting of this story, his absence needs to be played out some more. This story mightn't show it, but I actually thought John was a pretty cool character.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed, will update soon!

-Inks


	3. Decisions

Gasping as the wind was knocked out of him, both through the exertion of throwing himself over his brother and the inferno that was the spirit combusting in front of him, Dean swooned slightly. The burning orange glare bore through his closed eyelids, as the heat radiated throughout his body. As soon as it began, as these things tended to do, it was over.

Letting out a slow lungful of air, he scrambled off of the prone figure that was his little brother and ran scrabbling hands over the kid's singed clothing. Relief flooded through him as he expertly came to the conclusion that the only injuries Sam had suffered were to his already scruffy outfit. And his pride. Hauling the younger Winchester to his feet, none too gently either, he clenched his jaw as he looked him up and down.

"If I had come through that door _one_ millisecond later, you would have been a dead man," he hissed, jerking his head in the direction of the barn's decidedly dilapidated entrance. "Move it. Now." Without waiting to see if he was going to be obeyed, Dean stormed from the farmhouse setting where he had tracked and saved his hard headed, now apparently _suicidal_ sibling. For the first time he had been glad of gawping, gossiping locals. Without them, he wouldn't have found the boy in time.

Rounding on his beloved car, it was a slight mollification that _she_ at least was none the worse for wear. Wrenching her keys out of the outstretched hand of his sheepish looking brother, he kicked the car into gear and tore from the abandoned property. His teeth were protesting painfully as he ground them, but all in all, he considered it a better prospect that wringing Sam's neck. But only just. Feeling his brother squirm slightly beside him, his teeth ground all the more furiously.

Thundering along the dark roads, he held up an immediate hand when Sam opened his mouth. "Don't," he bit out tersely, "don't you _dare_ try to justify what you did. Especially when I'm driving, because I _may_ just kill us _both."_ Snapping his mouth shut, the younger Winchester slouched in his seat and dropped his gaze to the floor. The idiocy of his actions was obvious to him now. To go after an unknown, with no back up, in the throes of subterfuge…was a massive no-no.

Always had been.

He shook his hair out of his eyes and sighed quietly. He knew he was teetering on the edge of anarchy, but Jess' face consumed him. Her blood seemed to always drip upon him in his dreams, in his quiet moments…hell, any time he wasn't _specifically_ thinking about something else. He couldn't escape her, and it was making him desperate, he knew that. He knew the lead he had run down tonight was about as related to Jess' death as a cat to a mouse, but he just couldn't _help_ it. He'd been mad as all hell when he'd stormed out of that motel room, and as he looked at the tight set jaw of his brother, he knew that he was going to lose the anger war.

Dean was pissed.

Royally pissed, which for the elder Winchester, was nuclear level pissed.

His hand drifted absently over the holes in his clothing, and his opinion of his asinine behaviour continued to plummet. He was _never_ the irrational one, or the impulsive one. That was all Dean's department. Feeling the way he felt now, he briefly wondered how his brother didn't simply explode with all the damned "what if's," that came with a hot headed decision. Looking out the window at the passing swirl of trees, he groaned internally.

He just wanted to sleep, now. To go to sleep and pretend tonight's fiasco was nought but a bad dream.

All too soon, the well worn car screeched back into the lot it had vacated only two hours previously. Jumping out without a seconds glance, Dean barrelled into their motel room, leaving the door wide open behind him. Sighing, Sam slowly climbed out and trudged in after him. When he closed the door behind him, his soft sigh turned immediately to a loud groan.

Dean, was pacing again.

Pointing to the sofa, the elder of the brother's raised an expressionless brow.

"Sit."

Usually, in most other circumstances, Sam would have baulked at the idea of being spoken to like a dog, but with the fire raging in Dean's eyes, he merely threw himself down as directed. Looking up through his tangled mop of hair, he held up a placating hand.

"Look, I know. Alright? I know. I shouldn't have done it, it was a bad idea and a bad call. It won't happen again, and uhh…. nothing happened to the car so…" He trailed off, the words dying in his throat as he quailed under the now _murderous_ look being shot his way. It was the look that was generally reserved for things that possessed yellow eyes, not for…not for _him._

"You think that my main concern is the _car,_ Sam?" Dean said softly, a dangerous tinge coating his words as he stared steadily at his sibling. "You think…I'm _this_ mad, because you took my damned car?" He shook his head in complete and utter exasperation, running a hand through his hair in equal frustration. "You're the _smart_ one Sam, surely you can tell why I'm _this_ close to wringing your goddamned neck!"

Smart or not, Sam wasn't all that sure he could tell any such thing.

"I told you to _stay here,"_ Dean growled, "I told you that I would listen to your theory, and then _maybe,_ we might go together. Instead you take a joyride all on your lonesome, to chase a lead so thin it makes my butt look three sizes bigger! What in the _hell_ was going through that head of yours? What do you _think Dad_ would say and do if he were here, huh?!"

At this, a certain coldness spread throughout Sam, and he looked up coolly.

"Look around, Dean, he _isn't_ here…and you're not him, so where do you even get off lecturing me in the first place? You turn up at my place…in the middle of the night…and _drag_ me back into this hellacious life and _then_ think you have god given right to lay into me? Well," he scowled, "you don't. I get that what I did was stupid, and it won't happen again. So for the love of god, can we _just_ leave it at that? Before you give us _both_ a migraine."

Dean gaped.

"How can you even say that?" he asked, his tone so quiet Sam had to strain to even hear him. "We've already lost our mother, hell, maybe even our father to this goddamned demon. Yet you have an attitude about the fact I'm upset that you're practically offering yourself up _next?"_ He shook his head in infuriated amazement. "You got some neck little brother, damnit, if that was _me_ out there tonight, I wouldn't here the end of it for _months."_

The cold expression on Sam's face instantly dissipated, as he looked down at the floor shamefacedly.

"I'm sorry, ok," he repeated, this time without an attitude, "I know what I did was stupid. I knew it the minute I left this place, but I couldn't seem to stop myself." He took a breath and a ran a hand over his face in frustration. "You're right, it would be a different story if it was you and I know I would be the first one to harp on about it for weeks." He smiled a small crooked smile in the direction of his heavily irate brother. "I give you my blessing to give me a pain in my ear for the next…oh, I think three or four weeks is fair deal?"

The look on Dean's face would have soured milk straight from the udder.

He shook his head silently, willing himself to find the words and the strength to action the action.

"No Sam," he murmured, "I have no intention of giving you an earache." He teeth clenched at the relieved expression crossing his brother's face. "I _do_ however…have _every_ intention of giving you a fairly…significant pain… in your butt." The look of sheer blankness on his little brother's face would have been humorous at any other time, but in the current moment…it just made Dean's stomach that little bit tighter.

The kid stared.

…and _stared._ Before, eventually, finding his voice.

"Come again?" he croaked, pushing his hair out of his eyes so he could hear better. Because what his brother had just said, had just _implied…_ was surely indicative of a serious hearing problem on his behalf. Across the room, Dean flushed, but kept his nerve, and a steely gaze on his younger sibling. Raising a brow, he folded his arms across his chest and took a deep breath.

"You heard me," he replied quietly, "when I asked you what do you think Dad would say if he were he, I wasn't joking. You know, and you've always known, that when it comes to the hunt. When it comes to making dangerous calls, I take the final word. I'll listen to you Sam, hell you know I'll always listen to you…but, but well I've been doing this longer than you. When we were kids, when you've been away at college, I've _lived_ this life. I will be _damned_ if you die on my watch because you're too angry or bull-headed to listen to reason."

He ran a hand through his hair in awkward frustration.

"You know exactly what I'm saying here Sam," he continued slowly, "it's not as if it's the first time I've had to pull you back onto the reservation. Believe me…I'd rather do _anything_ else…and I do mean _anything…_ " his voice cracked somewhat, as he pushed on. "But you're my little brother and I don't know what I'd do if anything were to happen to you…that maybe, just maybe I could have prevented." His gaze found the floor, as the flush heightened to a scorching degree in his cheeks."

"I can't lose you, Sam, not because of… something like tonight. I just…I just can't."

With that, he lost the art of speech entirely and stood awkwardly, never wanting his father to materialise out of thin air more than he did in that moment. Over in the other side of the room, a similar emotional surge was thundering out the younger Winchester. He knew exactly what his brother was referring to, and he knew he wasn't wrong in his assertions that it wouldn't be the first time. His face took on a crimson hue, as he wrestled with himself. The guilt ridden part of him screamed at him that he deserved it, and that it _was_ no different than what their father would do if he were there.

The self preservation side of him screamed that Dean _wasn't_ his father, and he sure as hell didn't have the right to treat him like he had done when he'd been a less than cooperative teenager. Biting his lip, he studied his hands and wished he could just go to sleep. Peeking a look up at his sibling, he sighed when he caught the look steely determination in his eyes. This…was clearly something he'd given a lot of thought to.

"This is ridiculous," he heard himself uttering weakly, "you're not Dad…you don't have the right to…to…" he trailed off, the flush in his face rising dramatically. Across the carpet, Dean smiled with a tangible sadness. "I know I'm not Dad," he said softly, "but I also know we're all we got. And I _also_ know that _you_ know that what you did was wrong and that you deserve to find sitting a little harder than usual for a while. Whether you're man enough to admit that and take it," he shrugged slightly, "that's up to you. I won't force you, I'd never force you…but, I think you know what's right and what's wrong Sam, and I think you know the decision you have to make."

With that, he sat himself down on the side of his bed and also studied his hands, wondering how in the hell they'd wound up where they were. He didn't know _what_ he'd do if Sam refused. He meant what he'd said, he would _not_ force him. But…he couldn't go on as if nothing had happened, either. The kid had royally screwed up, and he knew his brother well enough to know that without some of penance, without some concept of punishment…his actions would eat him up. Which in turn, would spur him into even _more_ poor decision making. His gut clenched at the thoughts of it.

At the same time, Sam was warring with himself.

The thoughts…the _sheer_ thoughts of being sp…punished, being punished by his brother made him squirm where he sat. Despite the fact that they'd been there and done that, it had been a _long_ time since that era. Chewing his lip, he assessed the level of guilt he felt and groaned when it registered as sky high. He had put his brother through unnecessary fear and anxiety….and but for him, the likelihood of him surviving his solo adventure was in the toilet. He probably would have died tonight, and then Dean…would have literally no one.

Not a father he could count on. Not a brother he count on. Hell, not even a distant cousin Barry he could call on. He would be alone, all alone in this screwed up world in which they lived, and all because he'd had a…tantrum. He blushed deeper as he considered his actions, being utterly unable to defend or justify them. He'd acted like a child. His father's frequent intonation of "act like a child, and I'll treat you like a child," fluttered around his mind as he thought. Glancing at Dean, who was still staring at the ground, his stomach clenched as he felt the waves of fear and uncertainty that still billowed from him.

He didn't want to _do_ this as much as _he_ didn't want it to be done.

Swallowing, Sam knew that there was only one decision he could live with. There was only one decision that would alleviative the pit of guilt in his stomach. Standing, albeit with a grimace, he crossed the room to where his brother sat. Taking in a deep breath as his sibling looked up with a questioning brow, his jaw set in a hard line as he steeled himself.

"You asked me what do I think Dad would say and do if he were here?"

Dean nodded numbly.

"He would blister my butt," Sam continued evenly, "and I wouldn't blame him."

He took another shuddering breath and looked the elder Winchester dead in the eye.

"And I wouldn't blame you, either."

Dean exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and nodded quietly. A surge of pride was barrelling through him as he looked at his brother and realised how hard it must have been for him to cross the room. Without another word, he carefully reached out and took a hold of the kid's wrist. Scooting back on the bed, he gently pulled a red faced, but compliant Sam over his knee, and wrapped a firm hand around his waist.

When he spoke, his words were quiet, and to the point, but they rang with a deafening sincerity.

"Damned proud of you, Sammy."

…and then he raised his hand high.

….

FIN

…


End file.
